


No Easy Love (Could Make Me Feel This Way)

by allwaswell16



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha Louis, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Architect Louis, Blow Jobs, Chicago (City), Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Exes, Exes to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fashion Buyer Harry, Fountain, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, Harry in Lingerie, Jealous Louis, Kitchen Sex, Knotting, Lingerie, M/M, Midwest, Mutual Pining, Possessive Harry, Smut, but their jobs aren't in this that much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwaswell16/pseuds/allwaswell16
Summary: There’s never been anyone for Harry but Louis. He had always thought their love would last forever, despite society’s pressures on an alpha/alpha relationship. When Louis breaks up with him and moves to Chicago, he’s suddenly left behind to pick up the pieces of the life they once shared. Instead of moving on, he finds reasons to keep Louis in his life and in the process begins to piece together what went wrong.Or an Alpha Louis/Alpha Harry au where they get a second chance to make things right with the love of their life.





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing an ABO fic, so I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta taggiecb for holding my hand through this as usual. And I'd like to thank [hogwartzlou](https://hogwartzlou.tumblr.com/) for the midnight brainstorming that helped me overcome the issues I had with this fic! And also a thank you to my friends I peppered with ABO questions as I wrote this. More specific thanks when fic authors are revealed. xx
> 
> Thank you letsjustsee for organizing this challenge and of course for your lovely moodboards and prompts! <3 you!

>>>Harry

 

That damn crooked window shade. Harry looks at it from where he has flopped down on their couch after work. No, _his_ couch, not _their_ couch. At least not right now. He refuses to think about it never being _their_ couch again. He stares at the shades, willing them to adjust themselves magically. It’s always fucking crooked now is the thing. Harry can never adjust it quite right, but he sighs and gets back up off the couch and tries. He yanks and pulls and fusses. It’s still crooked.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. The window shade should always be adjusted properly because Louis knows how to jiggle it just right. But Louis isn’t here anymore, and Harry stares at it and knows it’s just one of the many signs that things have gone wrong.

>>>

It’s Friday night, and Harry pops a cork on a bottle of red wine. He takes a long sip as he walks from the kitchen to the living room. His silk pajamas make a very satisfying swoosh of sound as they slide along the leather of the couch. He’s just about to turn on Netflix and find a romantic comedy he can weep into his wine over when he spots his nemesis again.

The fucking crooked window shades. He ignores them and sips his wine as he clicks through Netflix looking for something to watch. Nothing looks interesting. This is a pretty common problem these days. Nothing looks interesting when there’s no Louis to watch it with him. No Louis to make absurd comments. No Louis to warm his cold feet beneath Harry’s leg. Harry always grumbled about that, and now he wishes more than anything that Louis’ perpetually smelly, cold feet were beneath him right now.

This calls for drastic measures.

He sighs and slips off the couch and races down the hallway to his bedroom as though he could outrun the thoughts that threaten him. He rummages through a box in the back of the closet until he finds a battered old DVD of _You’ve Got Mail._ He sighs in relief and clutches it to him. If Tom Hanks can’t help, no one can.

He puts it on and lets the familiar story unfold and tries so very hard to let it sweep him away, and it does. For a while anyway. But then Tom Hanks is giving in to his alpha nature and taking what he wants, and there he is on the screen caring for his omega when she’s ill. Bringing her flowers. Courting her. And it hits him all over again that this is the crux of Louis’ argument. That someday Harry will want all this for himself. That someday he’ll want to find an omega of his own.

This isn’t how he and Louis fell in love. There was no grand courtship, no love at first sight. Instead, there was a childhood friendship and laughter and fun. And when Harry was old enough to consider it, he knew there was only one person who could possibly be for him. There was and has always been just one Louis.

There was no way of knowing, of course, how they’d present. Harry honestly never let it worry him much. If he ever considered it at all, he would have said he assumed that they were both betas as neither seemed to exhibit much in the way of the typical alpha or omega traits. Well, until he was eighteen and stroking himself to the thought of how Louis looked in his soccer uniform. The knot that formed was a pretty big clue.

The movie credits begin to roll, and he realizes how little he’s been paying attention to the screen in front of him. Instead, a different film plays in his mind. One of excitedly barricading Louis in his bedroom and telling him he was an alpha. Of Louis’ eyes growing wide and seeing the desire in their blue depths for the first time.

“Show me.” Louis had said. Fuck, it had been like a fever dream. Louis’ hands over him, just as he’d been fantasizing about for months. When Louis’ lips had closed around him, he had sent a silent plea out into the universe that Louis would be his.

Harry finds himself growing hard at the memory, but he doesn’t start touching himself until his thoughts run to his first rut and the shock that had run through him as he saw the knot form on Louis as Harry had pushed in and out of him. It had sent the oddest thoughts through him, ones of possession and pleasure and pride. That he had somehow caused this response in Louis seemed like his greatest achievement.

It had taken Louis longer to come around to the idea of them being together after that realization, but Harry tries not to think about that as he strokes himself to the memory of Louis coming untouched between them.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of the crooked window shades. The brief moment of pleasure turns sour instantly. The wine he’s been sipping all night dulls any embarrassment he might feel at contacting Louis while a bit tipsy at home alone on a Friday night.

He opens up his messages and types: _Louuuuuuu, I can’t get the blinds right. They are all crooked just like this smiley face :/_

He doesn’t get a reply immediately, but the next morning he wakes up with a hangover and a text.

_I’m at my sister’s house this weekend. I can come over around ten to fix it if you want._

It’s 9:40, and Louis sent the text two hours ago. Fucking hell. He had no idea Louis was even home this weekend. It’s a punch in the gut to realize he has no idea what Louis’ new work schedule is like. How often has he been making the three hour drive back here?

He quickly sends back a smiley face emoji and skitters into the kitchen to make coffee and swallow a couple of Advils before he dashes into the shower. He scrubs himself down and washes his hair and nearly trips over his own feet as he runs back to the kitchen to drink the coffee as quickly as possible. He burns his tongue on it, his head still pounding as he hears a knock at the door. He whips around and curses the people who built this house.

He and Louis always joked that they could never have sex in the kitchen without their neighbors seeing. The big bay window offers Harry a clear view of Louis standing on the front steps, which unfortunately means Louis also has a clear view of him standing in the kitchen with only a towel slung around his waist. His hair drips over his shoulders and onto his back and chest, and for a long moment, he and Louis stare at each other through the glass that separates them.

As Harry hurries over to answer the door, he winces at the thought that Louis actually knocked at their door instead of just coming in. He wonders if Louis finds that awkward, too. Just more reminders that everything has changed. He wrenches the door open.

“Ehm, hi, Lou. Er--sorry. I better go put some clothes on.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Louis says as he enters and shuts the door behind him. “I knew you probably just woke up. Could tell you’d been drinking last night. What was it that did you in? Gin and tonics?”

“Red wine. But how do you know that?” He calls over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hallway. Louis seems to be watching him go.

“I know you, Styles,” Louis says with a shrug. Harry steadies his hand on the door frame to his bedroom as he turns to stare at him. Louis looks like a Saturday morning, rumpled hair and a sweatshirt that hangs off him and scruff still on his handsome face. It’s so familiar, and Harry’s heart aches with hurt and want. This Louis is still _his_ Louis. And he wonders if one day, he’ll forget what Louis looks like on Saturday mornings.

Louis flushes under his gaze and looks away. Harry hurriedly throws on sweatpants and a t-shirt and walks back into the living room to see Louis fussing with the shade. The shade zips straight up the cords and then carefully down as Louis releases it slowly, now perfectly aligned under Louis’ deft fingers.

Louis doesn’t turn around yet, but he’s sure he senses his presence behind him. The air feels heavy and charged with unspoken words and something else that Harry can’t put his finger on. He hopes it’s regret, although he feels frustration begin to well up inside himself. He’s not sure if he’s frustrated with Louis or with his own weakness in contacting him at the first opportunity. He promises himself it won’t happen again.

Louis finally turns around, and Harry hates the mask Louis wears for him now, a friendly smile and carefully blank eyes, as though Harry can’t see through it.

Harry doesn’t bother with masking his emotions. He lets his lips pull into a frown. “Thanks for fixing the blinds.”

Louis looks at the floor. “You’re welcome. I’ll just--”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry replies as Louis turns towards the door.

“Bye, Harry.”

>>>

Harry enters the luxuriously appointed foyer of the Dashwood department store’s headquarters and heads to his section of the seventh floor where all the buyers can be found. He slumps into his chair in front of a table of fabric samples from the suits he’d been looking at on Friday.

“Bad weekend?”

Harry leans his entire body back in his chair until he’s almost looking at Zayn upside down. “You could say that.”

“You need to get out more. You should have met up with me and Angelique on Friday.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry says. “Would have kept me from drunk texting Louis anyway.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Exactly,” Harry groans.

“So how bad was it?”

“I mean, not that bad, really. It’s just we _\--I--_ have these blinds that are tricky, and I can never get them even.”

“Harry, not to be rude, but what does that have to do with Louis?”

“Well, he can always get them just right. I don’t know how he does it really,” he says wistfully. “They just zip up and down so easily for him.”

Zayn laughs.

“I can’t even imagine what you must have even said.” He speaks in a slow, deep drawl of a voice in imitation of Harry’s. “Louuuuisssss, my blinds aren’t eeeevennnn.”

Harry can feel his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Zayn pulls a face at this reaction. “Oh shit, did you really text that?”

“Maybe,” Harry groans and sits back up in his chair.

“So did he say anything back?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Um, well, yeah. He--came over on Saturday and fixed the blinds.”

“Huh,” Zayn says, eyebrow raising to the ceiling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that ex-boyfriends generally don’t come over to fix someone’s window shades.”

“Louis never lets me down.”

“Except when he broke your heart, you mean?”

Harry stares down at the fabric samples. “Yeah. Except then.”

>>>

Harry keeps busy with work. He stays late and comes in early. It’s just best that he keep his mind off the break up as much as possible right now, so he fills his mind with the latest season of suit patterns and plans for the next tradeshow he needs to attend in New York.

He works closely with Zayn on coordinating the men’s accessories he’s in charge of with the suits Harry chooses. It’s a great partnership really. Harry has spent a lot of time working with omegas in the behind the scenes aspect of the fashion world, so he’s quite comfortable with Zayn. He appreciates that Zayn seems as comfortable working with an alpha because that hasn’t always been his experience. Not that Harry is much in the way of a typical alpha. Still, he usually senses some apprehension about working with him.

Friday night looms before him as he logs out of his computer. Zayn’s already wearing his coat when Harry turns around.

“You’ve said no the last four weeks, but I’m just going to keep asking until you say yes. Do you want to go get dinner with me and Angelique?”

Harry tries to smile. “I’m going to take you up on that tonight.”

Zayn grins brightly. “Good. You don’t have to be alone all the time, you know?”

“I know--it’s just--”

“You’re used to spending all your time with someone else?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies as he collects his coat and walks with Zayn towards the human resources offices in search of Angelique.

“What about your other friends? Niall, I think his name is? Or that super hot one, Liam.” Zayn winks at the thought of Liam apparently. Interesting.

“Where have I been that I didn’t know you were interested in Liam?”

“I’m not _interested._ I just think he’s hot. He’s a beta, right? I actually kind of thought he might not be interested in omegas. That’s been my general experience anyway,” Zayn says with a sigh.

“I see what you mean, but Liam is pretty open minded--” He stops abruptly. “Of course, I thought Louis was, too. So maybe I’m not the best judge of this kind of thing.”

Zayn smiles at him sadly. “I’m really sorry, Harry. Maybe he’ll--”

“What? Change his mind? Realize I’m not looking to mate with every O I come across?” Harry asks bitterly. “Maybe he just said that because that’s what he’s really thinking about himself. Maybe _he’s_ the one who wants to find himself a pretty little omega.”

“Let’s go find Angelique and get out of here. Margaritas on me, okay?”

Harry takes a deep breath, trying to regain some control. “Yeah. Sounds good. But now you see why I’m finding it hard to go hang out with Niall or Liam. They’re Louis’ friends, too. Can’t really yell at them about what a dickhead Louis is being.”

Zayn laughs. “Well, you can always tell me.”

>>>

Harry staggers up his front porch. He’s glad he didn’t puke in the uber. That would not have been good for his rating. He manages to get his door open and into the house and collapses in a tequila induced haze on the couch. He contemplates just sleeping there, but he knows even in a drunken stupor that his back will hurt tomorrow if he doesn’t get up and go to bed.

With a moan, he rolls himself off the couch and stumbles his way into the kitchen for a glass of water and some Advil. He hears the drip of water before he ever turns on the faucet, which strikes him as a bit odd. He must not have turned the faucet all the way off before he left. He fills a glass and takes long gulps of water, but he can still hear the drip of the faucet. He checks again to make sure it’s turned off.

He glares at the faucet as though a disappointed look at it will force some kind of action. He’ll never get a plumber to come out on a weekend unless he wants to pay a million dollars. That might be an exaggeration. Before he can think better of it, he’s got his phone out and he’s texting the only person he knows who is handy with things like this.

_Lou my faucet is leaking :(  What should I do?????????????????     :(((((((_

He plops into a chair and stares at his phone, waiting to see the little dots that will indicate Louis is texting him back. He’s not sure how long he looks at it, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to start crying soon. Fucking margaritas. He should never have tried to outdrink Angelique. He tries to blink back a few tears that have formed and drags himself into his bedroom. He’s just stripped off his clothes when he hears the buzz of his phone.

_I’m at my sister’s again this weekend. I can stop by tomorrow if you want me to take a look at it. Just text me when you’re awake. And take some ibuprofen and drink some water before you go to bed please. I can tell you’ve been drinking tequila._

His lips curl into a drowsy smile. Harry climbs into bed and falls asleep, still clutching his phone.

>>>

The next morning he takes his time getting ready for the day. The drip of the faucet would be annoying except that it has given him a reason to see Louis again. He pretends that isn’t a huge red flag.

He takes more Advil and drinks a few cups of coffee before taking a shower and getting dressed. He dresses fairly casually to hit up some boutiques with Gemma later. He nervously bites his lip and stares at his phone. Okay, nothing left to do but text Louis.

_Hi, Lou. I don’t know how you knew it was tequila, but yeah the faucet in the kitchen is dripping. Is there like a wrench socket of some sort that I can use to tighten it up or something?_

He isn’t even pretending to himself that he isn’t basically begging Louis to come help him. Louis will see right through this and come over.

_I think you maybe meant a socket wrench but like i said last night I can come over and take a look if you want. Do you still have the toolbox I left you in the garage?_

Harry frowns. He hates being reminded that Louis’ things don’t live here anymore. So much of the house has empty spaces like a physical reminder of the gaps Louis has left behind in his heart. The garage used to be filled with Louis’ workshop. They could only ever park one car in there on a good day. Now there’s so much--room. He wonders briefly where all Louis’ tools and projects are being stored. Surely, he doesn’t have room for them in some small Chicago apartment.

He’s such a masochist that he allows himself to wonder about what Louis’ apartment must look like now. They’d chosen it together, thinking Harry would be moving in at some point in the near future once he’d found a job there, too. He suspects Louis isn’t even unpacked yet, seeing as how he’s been spending so many weekends here at his sister’s house.

He texts back that he has the toolbox. He hasn’t touched a thing since Louis left. He hasn’t allowed himself to think on it all that much, and he’s hit with the realization that he hasn’t touched anything because he’s waiting for Louis to come home.

He sits down in a kitchen chair and rests his head on its smooth surface. This is too much to think about after a night of margaritas. He jolts upright at the sound of a knock at the door. He sincerely hopes Louis did not see him in here feeling sorry for himself.

When Harry opens the door, he sees Louis has already made a stop in the garage and is carrying the toolbox in his hand. Fucking hell, Louis looks hot holding a toolbox.

“Hey, Styles. You should really keep the garage door closed. It would be safer, and it’ll keep any animals from coming in and eating all your bird seed.”

“Maybe I want to feed all the local wildlife, thank you very much.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s your hou--”

Louis stops and clears his throat as though they both don’t know what he was going to say. Harry turns to walk towards the kitchen, hoping Louis didn’t catch the look on his face. He sits at the bar stool, watching Louis look at the faucet. Louis bends forward, and Harry can’t help but admire the curve of his ass beneath his fitted jeans.

It doesn’t matter how many years he spent looking at Louis, he’ll never have his fill of him.

“Yeah, I think I just need to replace the seat washers.” Louis turns, and Harry is fairly certain he’s caught him ogling him because his face flushes a bit pink. God, he’s so lovely. Harry digs his fingertips into his thighs. He wants more than anything to bend Louis over that sink.

His brain riots with emotion and the remnants of a drunken night out with friends and a wave of desire for what is no longer his to touch. Louis continues to speak, something about crescent wrenches and packing nuts and screws. Then he’s moving towards the door, and Harry’s instinct is to block his way and never let him leave. He’s standing in his path before his brain catches up.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Styles? You okay? I’m gonna go to the hardware store and grab the new seat washers.”

“Oh.” He can feel his body sag a bit in relief. “Um--yeah. I’m fine.”

He gives Louis a weak smile and wave and watches him pull away in his truck. He’s got at least fifteen minutes to get control of himself before Louis comes back. He rests his head on the cool surface of the table again until he hears Louis return when the truck door slams closed. He shoots up from the table and opens the door quickly before Louis can knock again. He can’t stand to have Louis knock at this door as though he doesn’t have the right to walk in anymore.

It doesn’t take long for Louis to apparently fix whatever it is that went wrong with the faucet, and Harry’s mind races to find some reason to make him stay.

“Thanks for fixing it.”

“Yeah, I was around so--no problem, really.”

“Wanna beer? I’ve got your favori--I’ve got Bent River pale ale in the fridge.”

“Yeah? Um, sure I could use a beer.”

Harry checks the time to make sure Gemma won’t show up unexpectedly as he isn’t sure how he’d explain Louis being in the house without looking as desperate as he actually is. She isn’t due for another two hours, so he’s probably safe as long as Louis leaves before then, or unless somehow this beer turns into Louis declaring his undying love and begging for forgiveness. A man can dream.

Harry grabs out a bottle for him and turns on the television to the Cubs game, which honestly is about the most desperate thing he’s done yet. He’s not exactly the biggest baseball fan, but he knows Louis was probably thinking about going back to Lottie’s to watch it. Louis shoots him a look, but Harry glances away and busies himself with opening his own bottle and slowly putting away the bottle opener.

He comes out into the living room and wants so badly to curl up on the couch with Louis and rest his head in his lap like they’ve done so many Saturdays before this one. It pains him to sit in the recliner with a lump in his throat and the memory of Louis’ fingers combing through his hair. He takes too large a gulp of beer to cover up any emotion playing out on his face and chokes on it.

He’s coughing and spluttering, and Louis actually feels the need to jump up and thump him on the back a few times.

“Better slow down, Styles,” Louis says with a grin, his hand now resting on Harry’s lower back. Harry stills because if he doesn’t, he’s going to melt right into Louis’ touch. He doesn’t even blame himself. It’s always been this way.

Louis drops his hand. He clears his throat and sits back down on the couch.

>>>

“Ready to go, H?”

“Yep!” Harry ambles towards Gemma’s car with a bit of a spring in his step. He knows he shouldn’t be so happy to have spent time with his ex-boyfriend, but he can’t help it. Louis isn’t just an ex. He hates feeling like he’s also lost his best friend in this breakup.

“What are you so happy about?” Gemma asks curiously as soon as he plops into the seat. “All I’ve seen you do is mope around since--well, you know.”

Harry tries to school his expression into something less than absolutely delighted to have spent the last hour and a half watching the Cubs beat the Cardinals just because he got to do it beside Louis.

“Nothing! No reason besides being happy to go shopping with my favorite sister.”

“Mmhmm. Yeah, right. Oh! Ohhhhhh--did you meet someone?” Gemma turns to him wide eyed. “You did, didn’t you? Did you meet a pretty little omega after your own heart? I knew it! I knew that if you just--”

Harry’s never been good at hiding his emotions. He’s fairly certain the look on his face is telling her all she needs to know because she abruptly stops her teasing. “No. Jesus, Gemma. The love of my life just broke up with me for that exact stupid reason--well, at least that’s why he _says_ he broke up with me anyway. I’m not out trying to meet anyone.”

He can feel the hot rush of tears flood his eyes, and he tries his best not to let his emotions spill over. If Gemma weren’t a beta, she’d be able to sense his upset even more than she already can. Hell, if she weren’t a beta, she’d already have smelled Louis’ scent in the house.

He stares out the window as they drive to the boutiques. He has himself fairly under control by the time Gemma parks the car. Before he can open the car door, she stops him with an outstretched hand.

“I’m sorry what I said before about--I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.”

“It’s fine,” Harry replies. He knows he doesn’t sound fine. “I just can’t imagine ever getting over Louis. And to be honest, I don’t think I want to ever get over him.”

>>>

Harry spends an entire week trying to think of something else to text Louis. He could text him about baseball. He could text him casually asking after his family. He could text him about work. Every night he stares at his phone and wills Louis to text him instead, but a text never comes.

He brushes off Zayn and Angelique on Friday night and spends most of it sulking and eating butter pecan ice cream. When he finishes off the carton, he decides to take out the now full garbage in the kitchen out to the garage. The door leading to the garage is squeaky again, and it annoys him. He knows better than to text Louis about it though. He’s not that pathetic--yet. He squirted WD-40 on it a few weeks ago, and it solved the problem. Although apparently not permanently. He lets it be squeaky for now even though it bothers him. He needs other things to focus on that aren’t Louis.

Harry wanders through the farmer’s market on Saturday morning. It’s quite brisk for an April morning, and he tries to focus on the market and the cold seeping through his jacket rather than what he normally did on Saturday mornings. He and Louis never made it to this market. No, Saturday mornings were for something else entirely for them.

Saturday mornings meant the slick feel of Louis’ skin against his own. They meant Louis’ whispers of how beautiful he looked like this, and his hoarse moans in his ear. They meant Louis’ knot filling him full as he cried out Louis’ name. They meant Harry’s homemade pancakes that he hasn’t made since Louis packed his belongings and drove them out of Harry’s life.

When he walks back in the house, the hinge squeaks at him, and he slams the door shut. He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. His phone buzzes with a few texts, and even though he knows it won’t be Louis, his heart gives a treacherous lurch anyway. It’s just Niall and Liam. He hasn’t seen them in weeks. He sighs and texts back that he’s in for whatever they’re doing tonight.

When he returns later that night after hours of Niall’s laughter and Liam’s smiles, he feels slightly more like himself. The door still squeaks as he enters, but it doesn’t bother him quite as much. When he lays down in the bed he once shared, he wonders what the future will hold for him.

Is he just being stubborn in thinking that he and Louis will find their way back to each other? Or is this going to be his life? A day by day series of events until one day Louis’ name will just be a small hurtful squeaky door hinge that’s bearable to live with. It hurts anew to think that he’ll ever be over Louis because it means that one day Louis will be over him, too.

When he wakes up late the next morning, he’s determined to take care of the damn door. He googles how to fix the problem, so it doesn’t keep reoccurring, which all leads to the mess he’s currently in with the door completely unattached from its hinges. He honestly has to laugh or else he’ll cry. He takes a picture with his phone and texts it to Louis.

_What the hell did you do to the door Styles??_

**I tried to fix it??? It was squeaky.**

Louis sends a series of laughing emoji faces, and Harry smiles at his phone.

**You wouldn’t happen to be in town and want to help me put the door back on would you?**

_I am in fact in town. I can be over there in an hour if you need me._

Harry swallows down a lump in his throat and just barely keeps himself from sending back a text that says, _I’ll always need you._

Instead he just sends back, _if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate the help._

When Louis arrives, it’s with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Don’t laugh,” Harry warns even though he’s already nearly giggling himself.

Louis lets out a brief laugh anyway. “I can’t believe you took the whole door off.”

Harry lets his lips form a pout. “Popular Mechanics said to take the hinge pin out and coat it with grease.”

Louis lets out a louder bark of laughter. “Yeah, but probably not both hinge pins at the same time.”

“Well, they should have been more specific.”

“At least you didn’t hurt yourself,” Louis says as he props the door against the wall. “Did you grease the pins yet?”

“Yeah, Popular Mechanics said to use lithium grease, so that’s what I did.”

Louis nods approvingly and holds the door in place while Harry replaces the pins. When they’re done, they stand next to the door, grinning a bit silly at each other.

“Um, well I should--” Louis begins.

“If you want some--” Harry says at the same time.

“What were you--”

“Sorry, you go--”

They both stop and smile a bit sheepishly. Louis motions at him to speak first.

“I was going to order take-out, maybe Thai? If you wanted to like--stay. Er--eat. As a thank you sort of. For helping me with all these dumb problems I keep having.”

“I’m happy to h--I mean--uh, yeah. I’m in for some Thai food.”

Harry can’t help beaming at him. Louis looks a bit taken aback probably by what he sees written all over Harry’s face. He tries to tone down the fondness he’s sure anyone could see there.

“Great. I’ll go put in an order.”

He turns away to further hide the emotion that rolls through him. He calls in their favorite meals from their favorite Thai restaurant and hopes this is the beginning of finding their way back to each other rather than a goodbye.


	2. Louis

>>>Louis

Louis stares out the windshield at the dark Illinois interstate. He’s always suspected this three hour drive was the most boring drive in existence with mostly soybean fields to look at until you reach the suburbs, but he was wrong. It’s even worse at night when you can’t even see the gigantic windmills or corn stalks. He shouldn’t have lingered so long over the Thai food.

He’s quite alone here in his truck with only his own thoughts for company. He should really think about trading in his truck for something more fuel efficient. All these trips back here every weekend are really costing him a lot of money when he adds it up. Fuck. Or he could stop driving back here every weekend and stop showing up at Harry’s door every chance he gets.

He drives a few more miles trying to just listen to the radio and drown out his brain. He should get a Prius. It’ll look good at work if he drives a Prius. Not that he drives to UrbanLab. He takes the ‘L’ everyday. But still. If he ever does drive anywhere with his colleagues, it would look good if he had a Prius. Of course, that would require he actually stayed in Chicago during his days off. He would hit his head against the steering wheel if he wasn’t afraid of veering off into a field.

The radio station fades out, and he’s forced to put on the music from his phone, which is not ideal as it’s all selected by Harry. He’s so weak for Harry. That’s the real problem. He isn’t being fair. He isn’t really giving Harry much of a chance to find someone else.

He turns the music up louder hoping to not relive the beginning-of-the-end moments that replay in his head every time he’s unable to distract himself from them. They come anyway. Of course they do. They play out in flashes behind his eyes as he tries to keep focused on the long stretches of black road before him.

The farewell party. They hadn’t timed it particularly well. Just a few days before his rut. Every moment seems permanently etched into his mind now, as if his heightened senses caused him to have photographic memories of the party. He can see the _Good Luck, Louis and Harry!_ frosted on the cake. The blue and green balloons and streamers. All their friends and families crammed into the house. Too many scents all swirling together and making him uneasy.

He remembers the way Harry looked. Soft curls of hair falling in brown waves around his shoulders. A slightly inappropriately sheer shirt with red roses embroidered on it. And then he relives the moment that sealed his fate.

He turns the music up even louder, but it doesn’t drown out Gemma giving voice to his worst fears about he and Harry. His heart pounds a bit harder in his chest as he remembers overhearing her words, her doubts about them, as she spoke them in a low voice to her boyfriend.

“Sure, they look happy now, but I just always pictured Harry ending up with an omega.”

“It’s in his nature, you know? Biological really.”

“What happens when one of them wants kids?”

“I think Harry just worries what would happen to their friendship if it didn’t work out.”

“I mean, I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking.”

In the days that followed he did his best to banish these thoughts from his head, but they slipped through his defenses insidiously, poking up through the cracks. He remembers the worry that began to overwhelm him when his rut seemed to make him even more desperate than usual. He clung to Harry through those days, barely letting him out of the bed.

Every time Harry talked about an omega friend at work or opened a door for someone or cooed over a baby during the next few weeks, the doubts ate away at him. It was one thing to have some private doubts, but it was another to know Harry’s family didn’t see a future for them. And as he packed his belongings for Chicago, he knew he had to let Harry go.

One Republic pours out from the speakers.

_Wherever I go there’s a shadow of you._

He had to let Harry have a chance for a more normal life.

_I know I could try looking for something new_

One that everyone could celebrate.

_But wherever I go, I’ll be looking for you_

And if someday they found their way back to each other, he’d know what they have is real and solid and something that will last.

“I’m an idiot,” he says to the darkened fields.

>>>

“Hey, Lots,” Louis says when she opens the door.

“Hey, Lou. Wanna throw your stuff in the guest room again and come help Daisy with her homework?”

“Who does homework on a Friday night?” Louis asks, though he wonders if Lottie meant anything by saying to put his things in the guest room _again._ Maybe next weekend he can be less weak and actually stay in Chicago.

He helps Daisy with her homework before helping Lottie shuttle their younger sisters and brother back home when their mom’s off work. He honestly can’t even meet his mom’s eyes when he walks them to the door. He doesn’t want to see the pity there.

Lottie invites him to go out to dinner with her and Tommy, but he doesn’t relish the thought of being the third wheel. He could call Niall or Liam, but he’d rather they don’t know he’s in town. They just don’t seem to understand either. He’d had a heated argument with Liam after the break-up, and Niall just acts relentlessly optimistic as though none of it is even happening.

Instead, he lies on Lottie’s guest room bed and stares at the ceiling with his phone in his hand, waiting for Harry to text him. He hopes something has gone wrong with their _\--Harry’s--_ house again. The text comes around ten-thirty.

_Is there an easy way to repair dry wall? Or whatever the wall is made of? I think it’s called dry wall?_

He sees the text flash across his screen, but he’s careful not to actually tap on the text for fifteen minutes. He figures that’s long enough to pretend he isn’t clutching his phone like a lifeline. He taps out a reply at ten forty-five.

_Yes, the wall is drywall. And it really depends on what you’ve done to the wall as to how you’d repair it._

Dots appear immediately as though Harry is answering. But then, they disappear for at least a few minutes before returning. He hates that his heart’s in his throat waiting for Harry to respond about drywall of all things.

_I can’t find a measuring tape to measure the hole but it’s from a doorknob._

The measuring tape is probably right where they left it last week in the toolbox in the garage, but Louis doesn’t say that.

_Well, that’s not too hard of a fix if it’s that small. You could use a mesh patch and joint compound probably for something that small._

He sees the dots again, willing Harry to ask him to come over.

_Okay! Thanks. Good to know._

His heart sinks. Fuck, he’s so stupid. Why does he keep doing this to himself? He lays back on the bed and flings an arm over his eyes. He’s not being fair, not to himself and not to Harry.

The phone buzzes in his hand.

_Next time you’re in town do you think you could help me fix it?_

He huffs out a pathetic laugh at himself. He already knows what he’s going to say. He knows his will can’t withstand Harry.

_Sure. I’m actually here now. Just helping out with the kids this weekend._

It’s not a total lie. He helped Daisy with her homework. And he’ll probably go to a few of their soccer games in the morning.

He adds: _I can come over tomorrow afternoon if you’re free._

He watches the dots desperately. Please be free, please be free.

_Thanks Lou!_

He can’t help but smile at his phone like the complete idiot that he is.

He wakes up the next morning still absurdly happy that he gets to see Harry today. He’s trying his best to temper it all with telling himself that he and Harry need to learn to get along as friends anyway. For Niall’s and Liam’s sake if anything. He wonders if Harry has been seeing much of them. No one has said anything. Of course, he hasn’t exactly been talking much to anyone.

He dresses carefully before heading over to Harry’s house. He doesn’t want to give Harry the wrong impression. He wears an old mud volleyball t-shirt from high school that he found in his mom’s house this morning in a box of his stuff that he’d left there. Not everything fits in his small apartment in Chicago. But since he’s decided on an old t-shirt, he lets himself wear a pair of jeans that are maybe a bit tighter than most people would wear to repair drywall.

He stops at the hardware store on the way and picks up the few supplies they’ll need to fix the wall. Harry flings the door open before Louis can knock, just like last time. It makes Louis’ stomach flutter, thinking that Harry is actually watching for him closely enough to open the door before he even knocks.

Harry’s wearing a smile that reaches his eyes today, and the clear green reminds him of all the ways he’s made Harry smile. He’s not sure why he’s smiling like this or if it has anything to do with him at all, but it makes his heart sing to know that Harry’s having a good day.

“Hey, Lou! Oh, did you bring everything we need? Thank god, because I have nothing.” Harry lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Good thing I have you--around--er--yeah, the hole is over here.”

Harry heads down the hallway towards their _\--Harry’s--_ bedroom. Louis has to force his feet to continue towards the room. It makes his chest tighten to be near the place that he finally let Harry go. Harry seems oblivious to his hesitation though, talking some nonsense about how he didn’t know his own strength when he slammed open the door into the wall.

He tries to just focus on the task at hand rather than any memories that threaten to surface. “Could you hand me the drywall knife?”

Harry looks at the jumble of items on the floor for a moment. “Yes?”

He hides a smile. “It’s the flat white tool.”

“Mmhmm. I knew that. Just didn’t see it right away.”

Louis turns to look at him as Harry hands him the tool with a silly grin on his face. “Sure you did, Styles.”

He repairs the hole fairly quickly as Harry mostly hovers and chatters on with his usual nonsense until he’s lulled into a familiar feeling of comfort that only Harry can provide.

“I should probably learn how to do this.” Harry frowns as he watches.

“You planning on putting lots of holes in the wall?”

Harry’s cheeks flush an enticing pink, and he mumbles his response. “It was an accident. Sort of.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you were punching holes in the wall on purpose.”

“I didn’t _punch_ a hole in the wall. I was a little frustrated and maybe slammed the door open a little harder than I meant to.”

Louis opens his mouth to ask why, but thinks better of it. He can sense Harry’s discomfort. The casualness of their conversation evaporates and leaves behind something a bit more tense. Louis clears his throat and gathers up the joint compound and the knife. He starts heading towards the garage and can feel Harry’s panic and a slight change in Harry’s scent. He turns abruptly to look at him and just catches the hurt on his face before Harry can school it into something neutral. He’s confused as to what this is all a response to, so he just says, “I’m gonna just leave this in the garage for you.”

He’s not imagining the look of relief on Harry’s face. Harry follows him out to the garage, some of their earlier comfort with each other returning. “So if you’re not busy--”

Louis stores the knife and joint compound on a shelf in what used to be his workshop area and then turns to look at Harry. “If I’m not busy--”

“Just thought maybe you’d like to stay for dinner and maybe a movie afterwards?” Harry asks with a shrug. “Just like as a thank you.”

“What’s the catch?” Louis asks playfully, all narrowed eyes and a half smile. “You aren’t trying to trick me into watching _The Notebook_ again, are you?”

“You caught me,” Harry says with a bark of laughter that Louis has missed more than he could ever say. Harry holds his hands up in defeat. “But what if I sweeten the deal?”

Louis swallows. His mouth suddenly dry. He knows Harry doesn’t mean what that used to mean to them, but he can’t help his initial response to the words. He nearly growls at the thought of having Harry beneath him again.

“With pizza,” Harry says quickly, his eyes wide as though he’s sensed or maybe even smelled Louis’ response. “I could make us some pizza. I already made the dough this morning.”

Louis looks away to collect himself for a moment, and then, he turns and begins walking towards the house. “Sounds great, Styles.”

Why he ever thought watching _The Notebook_ with Harry is a good idea, he’ll never know. For one thing, he’s curled up on the couch without Harry next to him, so he’s got no way to warm his feet up beneath Harry’s leg like he used to do. It’s all he can think about until he realizes how many times Harry has looked his way instead of at the screen.

He’s not sure what to make of it at first, but the glances feel meaningful. He’s beginning to suspect that Harry is looking at him every time Allie chooses the man who society says she shouldn’t be choosing. He’s probably reading too much into it. Although it _is_ Harry’s favorite movie. He just never considered before that there might be an underlying reason in there.

Is this how Harry sees them? As two people defying society’s and their family’s expectations of them in order to be together and happy and in love? He glances at Harry who is chewing his lip, and Louis can tell he’s fighting back the tears as Allie and Noah leave the world together.

He can barely force himself to leave. It takes all his will power to stand and tell Harry he should get back to Lottie’s. Harry walks him to the door and says goodbye and then stops him with just the smallest touch of his hand. It’s the first time they’ve touched like this since Louis told him it was over, and it burns like a brand.

“Be careful on your drive back tomorrow.” Harry’s voice is hoarse with what sounds like suppressed emotion.

He turns to look at Harry then. Soft ringlets of hair frame a face he sees in his dreams. The gleam of his eyes in the dim light from the porch shine just a little too brightly, and his pretty pink lips curve into a sideways smile. It’s all too much. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to ever go on, really. He’s certainly not trying to move on, but for the first time he selfishly considers what he’s giving up in order to give Harry what he needs.

He’s giving up Harry’s smiles and Harry’s silly bark of a laugh. He’s giving up Harry’s gentle spirit and kindness. He’s giving up his terrible sense of humor and his sometimes quiet moods of melancholy. He’s giving up the familiar smell of Harry’s arousal and the slick feel of his smooth skin against his own. He’s giving up all that Harry is to him, and it feels like he’s trying to rip his heart in two. But he’ll do anything for Harry. And so he forces his feet to move, one foot in front of the other, until they lead him back to his car and away from Harry.

>>>

He tells himself mile after mile that he will turn around and go back to Chicago. But the miles just keep coming, and Louis just keeps driving them until he reaches his sister’s house.

He sits in his car in Lottie’s driveway and stares up at the house. He had told her he wasn’t coming this weekend. He’s already texted Harry that he wasn’t coming back this weekend, too. It’s the first time he’s texted first.

_Don’t punch any walls this week. I can’t be around next weekend to fix them._

**_Well, I can’t make any promises._ **

And so he spends yet another Friday night staring at the ceiling in Lottie’s guestroom. Only this time, there isn’t even the hope that Harry will text him with another house issue. He goes through his now usual routine at Lottie’s, barricading himself in her guestroom until Saturday morning when she makes him waffles and sends him off to help his mom with shuttling kids to soccer games.

By noon, he knows he’s fucked. He’s already making excuses about why he should show up at Harry’s door. After the last soccer game, he drives to the hardware store and picks up paint that he’s not even one hundred percent sure will match the repaired wall, a small paint roller, and a paint pan. But when he arrives, it’s to find that there are cars parked in Harry’s driveway.

He recognizes Niall’s car and Liam’s car, but there are two others that he doesn’t know. He parks just in front of the house next door and stares at Harry’s house, unsure what to do. He’s almost overtaken with the urge to just march up to the door like it would be perfectly normal to join in on what he’s sure is a few friends watching a baseball game on television.

He’s so disappointed that he almost can’t stand it, and then he sees Harry enter the kitchen. He can see him puttering around in there, probably preparing snacks for everyone in the living room that Louis can’t see from the front windows. He watches him for a minute until he begins to feel too much like a creep. He sighs and is about to start the car when his phone rings.

It’s Harry. He looks back at the window and can see Harry hunched over a bit with his phone in his hands.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lou.”

“Hey, Styles. You punch anymore walls lately?”

He swears he can almost hear Harry’s bark through both the phone and the window. He knows that isn’t possible, but he can see the familiar way Harry laughs with his whole body.

“No, no. I’m just calling--um, I’m just looking at--the calendar, and you wrote on here to change the air conditioner filter sometime this month. And I don’t really know how to do that. I’m sorry to bother you--uh--”

“Oh. No, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine, Harry. I’m--um, glad you called about this. It’s important, you know? That it get changed, I mean. Do you want me to walk you through it or--”

“Okay! I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Yeah, it’s fine, really. Alright so, the air conditioner is down in the laundry room.”

“Right, yeah. I’m already down here.”

Louis can see he’s still standing in the kitchen.

Over the lump in his throat he continues. “Well, there’s a little handle sort of in the middle of the top part of the unit. Do you see it?”

“Yep, yeah I see it.”

“Lift up and away a little, and it should come right off.” Louis feels his chest tighten at the lie Harry’s just told as he watches Harry run a hand through his hair, still standing at the kitchen counter.

“Okay, got it.”

“Now, you should be able to pull the front of the bottom part off. Just give it a little tug. If you look at the very bottom of the inside of the unit, you should see the filter just sort of sitting at the bottom.”

Harry waits a few moments before responding. “Yeah, I see it now.”

“Okay, there are some thin metal prong things sort of holding it in place. You can pretty easily just unhook them and pull the old filter out.”

“Oh, okay, uh, yeah. Got it out.”

“Okay, the new ones are on the shelf behind you. Just make sure you look at the side of it. And it should say “Air flow up” on it, so you’ll know which side goes up. And you can just sort of slide it in there under the prongs until it reaches the back. ”

A few moments pass in which Louis is fairly certain his heart, that he thought was broken irreparably, isn’t broken at all. No, it simply hasn’t been his for a very long time. He gave the entire thing away to Harry years ago. “Okay. I think I’ve got it, Lou.”

“Well, just put the front covers back on, and you should be fine now.”

“Oh.” Harry says quietly. “Well, thanks Lou. I appreciate your help.”

“Well, just--call anytime you need help with stuff like that. It’s fine.” Louis hopes his voice doesn’t sound as desperate as it does to him.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. Sure. Thanks.”

“Okay, well, talk to you soon then.”

“Yeah, I will. And um, thanks again, Lou.”

“It’s fine, really. Anytime, Styles.”

“Bye, Lou.”

“Bye.”

>>>

Lottie claims his quietness is unnerving, but he smiles at her and says nothing. He packs up the few things he brought with him and throws them in the car before giving her a hug and heading out. He’s just had a lot to think about is all. And he’ll have three more hours to think, too. He keeps replaying yesterday and what it might mean.

He still loves Harry, and he’s obviously having a terrible time staying away from him. Even when Harry thinks he’s staying away, he hasn’t. He keeps thinking about how Harry looked through the picture window, bowed over his phone pretending he needs him even when he doesn’t. It makes his heart flip over in his chest. He likes to be needed. He likes to take care of the people he loves.

It’s not like he doesn’t know that Harry is asking for his help under semi-false pretenses. It’s just that he knows he misses all of Harry, and he wonders now what it is Harry misses about him. Does he miss all of it? All of him? Or is it just because he’s never known anything else? This just brings his thinking right back to the swirling mass of his thoughts that finally spilled over with Gemma’s pointed observations about them.

And while they’ve talked many times about these issues, he wonders how well they ever actually listened to each other. He’s fairly certain now that Harry never took any of his concerns very seriously, and he’s also knows that he never truly listened to why Harry felt he didn’t have any.

These are the thoughts running back and forth through his mind as he heads to his favorite Mexican restaurant for a quick bite to eat at the bar before he heads back. He chats to the bartender as he waits for his food, and then he feels a prickle of awareness crawl up his spine. He spins in his chair to scan the restaurant, but he doesn’t see anyone he knows until he happens to glance through the long windows out to the parking lot and sees Harry step out of his car.

There’s another man beside him that Louis doesn’t recognize. As they walk closer to the doors of the restaurant, he can make out the man’s beautiful face and jet black hair and lovely slim build. Harry appears quite large beside him, and they make quite the pretty picture. He watches as Harry holds open the door for him, and the beautiful man ducks his head a bit as he walks in with a smile on his face. They’re smiling at each other now as they wait for a table, speaking in low tones to one another.

Louis can’t remember the last time he saw a smile like that on Harry’s face, one so lovely and speaking of happiness. It’s been a while since he made Harry smile like that. When the hostess walks up to them with menus to show them to their seats, he has a moment of panic that they’ll be seated nearby, but she turns to take them to the other side of the restaurant. His relief is very short lived as he sees Harry’s hand at the man’s back. A surge of jealousy and pain rips through him, enough to barely contain the growl that wants to escape. It takes all his self-control to keep him in his seat. He’s not even sure Harry is touching him, but it’s enough. It’s too much for him to handle.

The bartender sets his food in front of him.

“Could you wrap this up to go? Thanks.”

The bartender gives him a curious look, but then takes the food to the back with him. He takes several deep breaths. Ironically, he tries to do some of the breathing techniques Harry has shown him. They work well enough for him to hold it together until he pays for his food and leaves with at least a small measure of his dignity.

The three hour car ride back doesn’t go well, but the tequila he drinks when he gets back to his apartment goes down quite easily. A little too easily by the looks of it when he wakes up the next morning. At least he’d been coherent enough to set his alarm. He moans, his head pounding with all his regrets which are many.

The walk to the ‘L’ is miserably damp and chilly. The noise of the passengers isn’t great, but what’s worse is everyone’s scents today, all melded together and making his stomach churn. His rut isn’t for another week and a half, so he shouldn’t be this affected. Must just be that his defenses are lower from all the alcohol he ingested last night.

As he walks into the UrbanLab offices, he knows he can’t keep doing this to himself. No more backsliding. No more pointless trips home just to look after a man who doesn’t need looking after. He plops into his chair and puts his head in his hands.

“Rough night?”

“A bit.” He sits back up to see the friendly face of his co-worker with the desk next to his.

Ed looks at him sympathetically. “I feel you, man. I had a bit of a rough one this weekend, too. ‘Course I didn’t keep drinking into Sunday night. So maybe not as bad as yours.”

Louis grimaces. “Yeah, I didn’t really start until Sunday night, which was probably a stupid idea.”

Ed raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’d say so. Omega problems?”

Louis can feel himself freeze.

“No,” he bites out with a growl.

“Ah, okay. Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Louis sighs. Ed is basically the only person he even talks to in Chicago. “Sorry. I just--my ex--I saw him on a date with someone else and it--was worse than I thought it would be.”

“The ex you keep going home to see? Sorry, man, that’s shit.”

“Yeah, that one.” Louis leans back in his chair and rubs his face with his hands. “Didn’t mean to bite your head off about it. It’s just--my ex--he isn’t an omega. He’s an alpha, too.”

“Ohhh. Listen, man. I didn’t mean anything by that. Sorry, I assumed there--”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just a bit of a sore point with me because it’s why we broke up.”

“Really sorry it didn’t work out, man. But really it isn’t fine for me to just assume. It’s 2018 after all. You love who you love, you know?”

Louis just stares at him as Ed turns back to his desk and clicks on his email.

“Yeah--I know.”

>>>

Louis slogs back to his apartment in the rain. He knows it’s pathetic, but he just lets the rain soak through him as though he deserves to be even more miserable. When he walks in the door, he peels off his clothes, leaving a sodden mess at the entryway and heads straight into a hot shower.

He’s got a random Spotify playlist playing as he showers, so he hears the ping and interference of a text coming through as he stands under the hot spray. By the time he’s done, he’s nearly forgotten the text until he’s dried his hair off a bit and dressed himself in his warmest, most comfortable sweatshirt. He grabs his phone and sees the text that came through.

_Hi Lou. I have a favor to ask you. I need to come to Chicago for work next Monday. Would it be possible to stay with you when I’m there?_

Louis stares at the text for a few minutes, wishing he were a stronger man or maybe just a better one. He already knows what he’ll say. He’s always been weak for Harry, and for the first time, he just really hates that about himself.

>>>

Louis has spent the better part of last week absolutely buried at work on a new sustainable building proposal. When he arrives home exhausted on Friday afternoon, he realizes this will be the first weekend he spends in Chicago since he moved here. He glances around at the state of his apartment and groans.

Dirty clothes spill out of the laundry basket, every cup he owns is in the sink, unopened boxes still litter nearly every room of the apartment, and he’s fairly certain he’s not swept or vacuumed the apartment--ever. He throws in some laundry and attempts to tackle washing the disgusting dishes he’s left in the sink. By the time he’s done, all he can muster up the strength for is to make himself dinner. He figures he still has a few days before Harry arrives.

Saturday morning he wakes up with the realization that he probably needs more furniture. He frowns at the living room, which boasts only a recliner and a large screen tv. A couch. He really needs a couch of some kind and actual chairs for the small table in the kitchen. If he unpacks the boxes, it’s going to become more obvious there’s nothing here in the way of furniture.

He scours Craigslist for a couch and texts Ed about possibly helping him. He’s either about to cement that friendship or ruin it. He figures out where the nearest IKEA is to buy chairs and has Ed lined up to help him tomorrow with the actually pretty decent looking couch he’s found. He practically runs through IKEA and picks out the first random chairs he sees and quickly gets them in the truck and back to his apartment to put them together.

Putting together chairs turns out to be the easy part. He’s not the most organized person, so his boxes are not labeled and to be honest it’s a miracle he ever located the dishes he’s been eating off of or his box of work clothes. He spends all of Saturday afternoon and most of the night unpacking. Too bad the apartment looks worse now than when he started.

He flops back in the middle of the living room amidst a sea of towels and bedsheets. He hates this. He hates that he has been here for too long to have not unpacked. He hates that the fucking boxes are just filled with a jumble of his belongings. He hates that he’s being forced into actually putting things away before he’s ready. And he hates thinking about why he wasn’t ready to do this. He mostly just hates everything about this whole fucked up situation where his ex-boyfriend who is seeing other people thinks it’s okay to just drop by and stay for a while.

He weaves his way back towards his bedroom and stumbles into bed. Maybe if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up and this will all be some awful nightmare.

Instead, he wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing with a text from Harry.

_I’ll be there around 4 if that’s okay :)_

Louis stares at the smiley face for a minute. He feels like texting back _, no it’s not fucking okay,_ but he knows he shouldn’t. He sends back a thumbs up emoji instead. He crawls out of bed and looks around at his belongings scattered across every corner of his apartment. He could almost cry honestly, but instead he lets it make him angry instead. He’s been sad enough. He’s so fucking over being sad. He slams cupboard doors with satisfying whacks. He kicks boxes out of his way. He throws things into drawers with loud clangs. He still has shit lying around when it’s two o’clock and time to pick up Ed.

They wrestle the couch into his truck and manage to get it to his apartment in one piece. They’ve just managed to get it wedged in the damn doorway, but he hears a familiar slow drawl.

“So-fa. So good,” Harry says with a cackle. “Get it? So far, so good? Sofa so good?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but Ed moves to look at a very early Harry, causing him to let too much of the weight go on his end. Louis curses as he tries to regain the balance.

“Sorry!” Ed calls out.

“Oops. Sorry,” Harry says. Louis can’t see his face behind the couch, but he can picture it. It’s doubtful he’s at all sorry about having the perfect pun. As Louis strains to hold up his end of the couch and somehow maneuver it properly, he can hear Harry continue. “Hiiii, I’m Harry. I’d shake your hand, but obviously that wouldn’t work I suppose. Ehm--don’t know if we’ve met before, but I’d gather not because I feel like I’d remember your ginger hair. Louis has another friend with ginger hair--which that’s a bit funny, isn’t it? Maybe Louis is destined to have ginger haired friends--or are you a friend of Louis’? I guess I didn’t even ask--sorry. Maybe you’re just the mover? Or--”

Louis can feel sweat drip down his back. “Christ, Harry. Do you think you could maybe help us out a bit?”

“Oh! Right, right! Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Louis can feel a bit of the pressure let up as Harry helps Ed hold up the end of the couch still in the hallway, and then he’s able to turn it a bit sideways and actually get it into the apartment. They carry it to a spot against the wall and set it down. He and Ed both wipe the sweat from their faces with their shirts. He definitely owes Ed a favor after this.

He’s about to speak when he can smell Harry’s scent strongly. Tart and then sweet. He’s not sure if it’s because his rut is close or Harry’s is or he supposes it’s possible Harry’s feeling something strongly, but it distracts him enough that he shoots a glance at Harry and forgets what he’s about to say.

“Well, I’m gonna head out then,” Ed says as he looks curiously between he and Harry.

“Oh. Uh--thanks, man. I really owe you one. You want to stay for a beer or--”

Ed looks over at Harry curiously, but then declines the offer. “Nah, that’s alright. Next time. And I’ll be sure to call in a favor when I need one.”

“For sure. Thanks again. See you tomorrow then.”

“Yep. See ya. Nice to meet you Harry.”

Harry startles visibly. “Oh! Yes! Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t catch your name though--”

Ed’s already half out the door, but he turns around. “It’s Ed. Maybe see you again sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe!” Harry says brightly, a wide smile on his face as he watches Ed close the door behind him. Harry’s smile dims when he looks back at Louis.

“You’re early.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m--” Harry clears his throat. “--a little bit. Sorry. Hope you don’t mind.”

Harry stands in front of him looking fresh and beautiful in what looks like a silk blouse of some kind, and Louis wants to scream with frustration. He can feel his old t-shirt clinging to his back from the sweat of carrying a couch up far too many stairs. He’s not sure the last time he took a shower. Yesterday? The day before? The apartment is still strewn with boxes although he does have two chairs and a fucking couch now.

“So--nice place you’ve got here.”

Louis doesn’t respond. Harry helped pick this place out. It’s a dumb thing to say especially seeing how it looks like a whole lot of nothing right now. If Harry lived here, there would be art on the walls and every single thing would be put in its proper place and it would look like a home instead of a mess.

“Ed seems nice.” Harry tries again. There’s an odd gleam in his eyes that Louis can’t place, but he can definitely smell how much Harry wants him. The overwhelming sweetness of his scent overcoming the tartness of his usual scent. They’re too close to their ruts, which of course probably are still aligned because the universe hates Louis this much. Harry’s unnerving stare boils his blood with anger and desperation. Why would he even make a business trip so close to his rut? For fuck’s sake, it’s so fucking stupid.

“Yeah. Ed’s nice.”

Louis clenches his fists and stomps towards the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and takes big gulps of it, trying to ignore both the crackle in the air and the man in his living room who is probably still staring at him. He wipes his mouth off on his arm and turns back to face Harry.

Harry is indeed still staring.

“Stop,” Louis growls. “Just stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop fucking staring at me like that.”

“Are you--mad at me?” Harry asks, his eyes open wide with surprise.

“No.” He is.

“You are. Which is really--I don’t know. Shit. It’s really shit.” Harry’s eyes narrow a bit, and his body stiffens. “Why are you mad at me?”

Because he doesn’t like Harry seeing his apartment look pathetic like this. Because he’s sweaty and gross while Harry stands there looking like an angel. Because even though he moved three hours away he still feels Harry everywhere he goes like a fucking phantom limb. Because even though he broke up with Harry, it wasn’t what he wanted. Because he still loves Harry and Harry is seeing other people. Because he can smell Harry’s arousal as well as his own and he’s never felt more like putting his fist through a wall.

“Because you keep asking me to come fix the stupidest things at your house when you could have anyone else help you with it.”

Harry’s face flushes red.

The deepening timbre of Harry’s voice sends a shiver down Louis’ spine. “Excuse me? You didn’t _have_ to come help me with those things. You could have said you were busy. You could have said, oh I’m with all my new friends in Chicago, but instead you were almost always at home anyway apparently with nothing better to do than come fix my damn blinds.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he can feel his jaw tighten as he watches Harry stalk slowly towards him from the living room.

“How many weekends have you stayed up here anyway, Louis?” Harry bites out. He’s reminded that while Harry doesn’t show his temper often, he’s got an alpha temper to match anyone when provoked. “Two? Grass isn’t as green as you thought over here, is it?”

Louis is glad Harry doesn’t know that this is the only weekend he’s stayed here. The grass certainly isn’t greener here without Harry. Harry looms over him, his eyes flashing. Harry’s breathing heavily now, his chest and shoulders heaving.

“You know I can smell you still want me,” Harry hisses as he crowds Louis up against the kitchen cabinets. Harry breathes hotly against his neck, and it takes all of Louis’ willpower to not crash into him. He keeps himself still, but he doesn’t deny it. He does still want him, probably always will. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change the fact that Harry’s own family doesn’t think they should be together. But all this is a little difficult to think about when Harry is dropping to his knees in front of him.

“Harry--”

“Just shut up,” Harry barks out as he tugs Louis’ sweatpants and boxers to the floor in one hard pull. He’s been hard since the moment he heard Harry’s deep alpha voice. Harry’s fingertips press into his bare thighs and hold him firmly against the cabinets as Harry nuzzles his face into the crease of his groin. “Fuck, you smell good.”

Louis isn’t sure if the moan he hears is Harry or himself. “I’m all--sweaty.”

He opens his eyes, not even realizing he’d closed them at some point. He looks down at Harry who stares up at him unblinkingly as he slides Louis’ cock into his mouth. Louis lets out an involuntary shout at the wet heat of Harry and the feel of his tongue against him. A glorious pressure begins to build up inside him. Between his thighs, behind his eyes, up his spine. Harry feels so good that he can hardly stand the pleasure as Harry slides his mouth, his lips, his tongue around him.

It’s been so long since he felt this way. It isn’t that he’s forgotten that this is how Harry makes him feel, but more that he’s tried to banish it from this thoughts lest he end up on Harry’s doorstep begging for his mouth. A small voice that he’s trying not to listen to at the moment reminds him that he _did_ keep showing up on Harry’s doorstep.

Harry releases him suddenly, and Louis gasps at the abrupt loss. Before his brain can begin functioning again, Harry stands, picking him up as he goes and hoisting him over his shoulder. The movement punches the breath right out of him in a grunt.

“You’re not the only one who’s angry,” Harry snarls as he plants one large hand over Louis’ bare ass. He feels a bit foolish for a moment with his pants still hanging around his ankles and a sweaty t-shirt on as Harry carries him towards the bedroom.

Harry tosses him on the bed none too gently before ripping his silk shirt off up over his head instead of unbuttoning it. “You think I like begging for your attention, Louis?”

Louis props himself up on his elbows and watches as Harry tugs off his boots, throwing them into a corner, and then works on his jeans, frustrated when they don’t come off his ankles easily. Harry makes a gutteral noise as he finally gets them off. “You think I like begging you to come see me?”

Louis can’t take his eyes off Harry’s hard cock, leaking at the tip and flushed with color. He wants Harry to fill him up while he pants his name. Harry kneels on the end of the bed, looking down at him. He feels vulnerable even though Harry is the one nude while he’s still half dressed. Harry’s nostrils flare and his jaw visibly tightens as he stares down at him. Harry drops to all fours and prowls up the bed, a tiger on the hunt, as he climbs over him until he can bury his face in Louis’ neck and scent.

Louis whimpers. He can feel the press of Harry’s hardness against him and the feel of Harry’s teeth barely pressed to the skin of his neck. He’s so hard and turned on, he can feel his knot beginning to form.

Harry suddenly sits up, straddling him and looks down at this development. He grabs him by the knot, none too gently. “You fucking liar. You do still want me.”

“Never said I didn’t,” Louis gasps out as Harry’s long fingers grasp him firmly.

Harry squeezes a little, and Louis gasps again. “Yes, you did. That’s what breaking up with me means. That you don’t want me anymore.”

He looks into Harry’s eyes helplessly. Green flames of lust and something else, confusion maybe, meet him there. He can’t focus on that though when Harry’s got his hand wrapped around his cock. Harry releases him suddenly, pulling another whine from his throat at the loss, but then Harry is on top of him again. Harry rucks his shirt up to reach his nipples, taking one between his teeth. Louis opens his mouth in a silent scream of pleasure.

“Where’s the stuff?” Harry growls.

“What?” Louis asks, his brain slow to comprehend much of anything at the moment.

“Where’s your stuff, Louis? Lube? Condoms?” Harry barks out at him roughly.

Pain slices through him. They need a condom. Harry’s been with other people, and they need a condom. “I don’t have any.”

“What?” He can see the confusion on Harry’s face. “You don’t have any lube?”

“Yeah, but no condoms. I haven’t--didn’t need them--” He starts trying to sit up, but Harry grabs both his wrists in a quick movement and pins him to the bed.

“You haven’t been with anyone else,” Harry says, looking pleased and a maybe a bit smug. Louis tries to buck him off, but Harry holds him firmly in place. “I haven’t either.”

Harry releases him and rummages through the bedside table, locating the lube. He does it slowly and perhaps deliberately, letting Louis decide what happens next.

“Hurry up,” Louis grumbles.

Harry gives him a wicked grin as he sits atop him, slicking up his fingers. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to watch the mistake he’s making. Harry slides off him. He feels the press of Harry’s body against his side and the weight of Harry’s leg thrown over one of his own. Harry grunts as he thrusts his cock against Louis’ thigh. Harry lets his slickly coated fingers enter him one by one to open him up, and Harry’s fingers fuck into him in the same rhythm that Harry ruts against him. He can sense the intense satisfaction radiating from Harry at having him trembling beneath him, all anger dissolved at least for the moment into a more vulnerable desire.

He opens his eyes to the sight of Harry’s dark curls and the press of their body’s against each other. It’s too much. He throws an arm over his eyes as though it could hold back what little bit of himself still belongs to him and not Harry.

“No,” Harry growls. Louis gasps at the loss of Harry’s fingers as they slide out of him and instead find Louis’ wrists again. “Look at me.”

He obeys and doesn’t close his eyes. He knows this solves nothing. He knows all their problems will still be here in front of him when this is over, but god help him, he can’t seem to care at the moment Harry pushes inside him.

Harry holds his wrists pinned to the bed as he fucks into him, at first he doesn’t register the words Harry says, too caught up in his own pleasure. But Harry says it enough times that it begins to sink in.

“Mine, mine, mine.” Harry repeats it like a mantra as he finds just the right place to hit his prostate over and over to the sounds of Louis’ incoherent noises. “You’re mine, Lou. You’re mine. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

When he doesn’t respond, Harry nearly pulls out of him completely just the tip of him teasing at his hole.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he begs. “Please!”

Harry presses in barely an inch more, teasing him. “Say you’re mine first, Louis.”

“Yours,” Louis chokes out. “Yours.”

Harry thrusts back in again, harder this time, picking up his pace until Louis can feel him slip further inside him, his knot locking them in place as he comes. Harry shouts out his name over and over as he comes into him. It’s all so overwhelming to be with him like this when he’d begun to think it would never happen again. Emotion wells up in his throat at how beautiful Harry looks like this, tied to him this way. His heart thrums to the beat of Harry’s, and it’s this and his own desperation that has him coming with the lies of _yours, yours, yours_ on his tongue.

They lay quietly against each other, Harry resting between his legs and Harry’s face pressed into the crook of his neck. The fight seemingly fucked out of them. Harry rolls them a bit to the side so all his weight is no longer completely on top of him. His hands have been freed, and now he doesn’t know what to do with them. It doesn’t feel like he has the right to thread his fingers through Harry’s hair or press them against his back.

As they lay there in silence, the tension between them returns, a creeping tide washing over them. When Harry is finally able to, he pulls out of Louis with a slight wince before he looks at Louis’ face. He must read something he doesn’t want to see there because when he speaks it’s laced with a bitterness Louis is sure he’s never heard from him before.

“You think was a mistake, don’t you?”

Louis honestly doesn’t know what to say besides _yes,_ but he knows better than to actually say it like that.

“It just doesn’t--change anything,” he says carefully. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re _\--sorry?”_ Harry scrambles out of the bed putting a fair amount of distance between them before he brings his gaze back to Louis. “You’re sorry. Do you know why I’m in Chicago, Louis? Do you?”

“I thought it was for work.” Louis suddenly feels naked with Harry watching him as he lays on the bed with his pants still around one ankle and his shirt rucked up to his armpits. He pulls his shirt down.

“I’m here for an interview.”

“An interview--”

“Yes. The job is similar to what I’m doing now but on a slightly larger scale.”

“But why--

“Because I’m still fucking fighting for us, Louis!” Harry paces the room and runs a hand through his hair.  “For fuck’s sake! Do you seriously not see it?”

He does know. He does. But he’s weak and stupid, and he’s let this go on to feed his selfish need for Harry. He’d let himself believe Harry still needs him even if it’s just to fix a leaky faucet. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Okay. Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have come here.” Harry grabs his jeans and starts pulling them up his legs. “You don’t know shit about what you want, Louis.” Harry yanks his silk shirt back over his head. “You said you were doing this for me, but that’s such a fucking lie. You’re the one who wanted to be free of me. Find your own little omega. Don’t try to push this bullshit all on me.” Harry starts trying to pull his boot on, but it gets stuck. “Fuck! Fuck, I get it now. I do. You moved hours away to get away from me and here I am still trying to follow you.”

Louis stares at him helplessly. Blood rushes in his ears. Before his mind can stop his foolish tongue, he blurts out the worst possible thing. “Then why did I buy you an engagement ring?”

Harry stills, one boot still on the floor. “What?”

“I--I bought one--before--I--we--”

“You didn’t. You’re lying.”

Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that. He stays silent, afraid to say anything else. Who knows what other stupid things he might say.

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“Where’s the ring? I want to see it.”

“I don’t think--that’s probably not a good idea.”

Harry laughs, an awful hollow tone to it. “Right. Because it doesn’t exist. Why don’t you just tell me to fuck off and leave and that you were just using me?”

Louis had been sure his heart didn’t have any pieces left unbroken, but if he did, the last one lays shattered that Harry could think Louis would use him for sex. And his stupid tongue lets more slip out.

“It’s in my sock drawer.”

Before he can stop him, Harry is frantically slamming open drawers until he finds the right one. He knows he found it when he freezes in place. Harry turns around to face him, a small black box in his hands.

“I don’t understand,” Harry says quietly.

“I--”

“I don’t understand what went wrong. How you could go from loving me and planning your life with me and then make decisions about us--about me--that keep us apart?”

Harry doesn’t open the box. He sets it carefully on top of the dresser, crams his foot in his other boot, and then heads for the door. Louis sits half naked on the bed, still in a bit of shock at what’s just happened. And then he hears the door to his apartment shut. Did Harry just leave? He jumps up from the bed, desperately pulling his pants back up his body and stumbling out into the living room.

“Harry?” He calls out. Harry doesn’t answer. He flings open the door and shouts down the hallway. “Harry!”

He runs back inside his apartment frantically pulling on shoes and takes the steps two at a time in his haste to catch up with Harry. He’s not sure where Harry’s gone, but he sees his car parked outside and Harry’s not in it. He looks both ways down his street, but he doesn’t see any sign of which way he’s gone.

 


	3. Harry

>>>Harry

 

Adrenaline pumps through him as he jumps down the stairs of Louis’ apartment building, taking two or three steps at a time. All he can think about is running away from all this. Nothing has gone to plan since he walked through Louis’ door this afternoon.

He bursts through the doors leading out onto the street and just finds a path east towards the lake. At least he won’t get lost if he just heads for the lake. The sun flickers its dying light behind him through the skyscrapers as he waits for the light to change to cross State Street’s busy lanes of traffic at this time of day.

The loud screech of buses and car horns and an ambulance siren just add to the confusion in his head. The light turns, and he walks as briskly as he can in the waves of people all heading in the same direction.  It’s absolutely frustrating as fuck how often he has to stop to cross each street, anger burning in his veins. Even amidst these large groups of people who must be used to encountering all types, he notices that they must instinctually be giving the angry alpha a bit of space. It’s almost as if he’s parting the Red Sea as he plows his way through the crowded sidewalks and makes his way across Michigan Avenue, finally seeing the green of Grant Park and the lake beyond it.

He lets out a long breath as though just the sight of his destination has provided some relief. He manages to make his way to the fountain before he stops and decides this must be where he was headed anyway. The parks have always been one of his favorite things about the city. He looks up at the fountain in all its magnificent rococo glory and a wave of exhaustion washes over him.

He clutches the metal fencing surrounding the fountain and bows his head. He lets the rush of water drown out the sounds of the rest of the city--of the rest of his life. He’s just so tired. The angry adrenaline that has carried him this far drains out of him, and he feels the weariness in his bones from the day, the weeks, the months he’s spent fighting for Louis. No, not just Louis. He’s been fighting for himself, too, and the life that he knows they could have together.

He just can’t understand this wall that Louis has erected between them. There’s something there that he just can’t seem to overcome. It somehow hurts even worse to know that at one time Louis had imagined him as his husband enough to buy an engagement ring, but then decided he didn’t actually want to marry him. It makes it all seem more final in some way, that Louis had decided so firmly against being with him. He feels utterly foolish for ever thinking that getting a job and moving here would make a difference to Louis.

He feels the buzz of a text in his pocket, but he ignores it. He doesn’t remember crying, but his face feels wet with tears. He wipes them away and walks slowly around to the lake side of the fountain. He stares out past Lake Shore Drive and the cars trapped in gridlock and insead looks to the vast blue of the lake, growing steadily darker as evening begins to set in on the city behind him.

He didn’t mean everything he said back there. He knows Louis wouldn’t use him. He almost feels badly for saying it, but fuck he just wanted him to hurt as much as he hurts. What has being polite got him in all this? What has being docile and begging for Louis to pay attention to him ever brought him? He wonders if it’s even worth trying to go to this interview tomorrow. Probably not, but he still needs to go and be professional. He can just explain that he isn’t completely sold on the idea of moving to Chicago.

Fuck. He’s going to have to go back to Louis’ apartment. His garment bag with his interview suit is lying across Louis’ recliner. He’s not really ready to go back, but he can’t stay here hiding behind an enormous fountain forever. He takes a deep breath and turns to begin the walk back.

Louis.

He’s standing thirty feet away, watching him warily as though Harry might make another run for it.

“How did you find me?”

Louis slowly closes some of the distance between them. “I know you, Styles.”

He wants to yell and throw those words back in Louis’ face, but he’s just too fucking tired to keep arguing.

“You love fountains,” Louis says softly. “You love beautiful things. You seek out beauty in everything you do and everywhere you go. I knew amidst all the concrete and steel, I’d find you among exquisitely carved stone and cascading water. The blue of the lake. The green of the trees.”

Louis’ words fill his chest, choking him with emotion. How can Louis know him like this and still turn away? He wants to rail at the unfairness of it all. No one knows Louis the way he does, and no one knows him the way Louis does. No one will ever see him the way Louis sees him. How can that be wrong? How can they not belong together? Just because the world in general doesn’t believe alphas should be together?

Louis takes another step closer, and Harry holds up a hand to stop him. “Please, just--don’t.”

Louis looks wounded by this, and that doesn’t seem fair either. “I need to talk to you, Harry.”

Harry lets a bitter laugh slip out. “Don’t you think you’ve said enough?”

“No.” Louis voice cracks a bit, and Harry snaps up to look at him more closely. Louis’ eyes gleam with unshed tears. He looks disheveled and panicked and more upset than he’s ever seen him look, more upset than when they broke up. “I have a lot I should probably say. If you’ll listen. I’d understand if you don’t want to anymore. Did you ever answer Gemma’s call?”

He looks at him confused for a minute. “What’s Gemma got to do with--”

He pulls out his phone and sees all the missed calls and texts. Multiple ones from Gemma, but others, too, from Louis and Liam and Niall. “Oh, I didn’t even notice all these. I was kind of--out of it.”

“Harry--I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I--”

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “ Please don’t apologize for not loving me enough, Louis.”

“God, Harry. No, that’s not it at all,” Louis says as tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, you ever thought that. I meant it when I said, I did this for you. To give you a chance to have a perfect life.”

“A perfect life? What the fuck is that, Louis? A perfect life. How the hell could my life even be close to perfect without you in it?”

There’s a small smile on Louis’ wet face and a croaky huff of a noise that comes out of his mouth. “Harry, you’ve never even had a life without me in it. How could you know that?”

“I didn’t want to ever know! Why would I? When I love you, and I thought it was mutual--”

“It was,” Louis interrupts. “It still is. I made a mistake.”

Harry’s heart stutters an extra beat at the admission that Louis still loves him, but it doesn’t completely dispel his anger. “A _mistake?_ A mistake. Okay. You made a mistake and upended our lives.”

Louis sighs. “Yes, but it’s not really as simple as all that. But what I most want to apologize for is for not giving you the option to decide on what you want. That’s what I regret most.”

Harry stares at him, silently assessing the way Louis flicks his fingers through his hair and presses his hand to his stomach.

“Our love was never--easy. Never simple.”

“So what?” Harry says. “It was enough for me.”

“Maybe it was.” Louis smiles ruefully. “Maybe it was less easy for me than I let on. And looking back I wish we had talked about it more. I wish I’d put all my doubts and insecurities out on the table long before I let Gemma’s words eat away at me.”

“Gemma?”

“Yes--Gemma. I overheard her opinion about us at the going away party. It wasn’t--very hopeful.”

“Wait--what?” His mind spins at this. “What did she say?”

“She didn’t say anything we haven’t heard a hundred times before. It just--I didn’t know your family felt that way about us. It hit me harder than I knew how to deal with. They love you, and they want what’s best for you. I started believing that I wasn’t--what’s best for you. And you deserve it, Harry. You deserve the best of everything.”

“So you’re saying you broke up with me for my own good, so I could live a perfect life with some imaginary omega that you and my family have dreamed up?”

“Well, when you say it like that it sounds--”

“Stupid? Ridiculous? Like the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Harry--”

“But what about you Louis?” He interrupts. “You deserve to have a beautiful life, too. Do you feel like you can only have that with an omega?”

Louis stares at him for a long moment.

“No,” Louis admits. “I hadn’t even considered what I would do really. But no. I hadn’t thought I could be happy being with anyone but you.”

“Why would you ever think I don’t feel the same way?”

Louis hangs his head a bit. “I thought you at least should have the chance to find out, but then I couldn’t seem to stay away until--well--until--”

“Until what?”

“Until I saw you on a date,” Louis whispers.

Harry feels like he’s been slapped in the face. “A date? What are you talking about? I haven’t been--”

“He was very beautiful. Dark hair. You held open the door--”

Harry racks his brain for a moment, but there aren’t very many people it could be when he’s rarely left the house except to go to work. “Zayn. You saw me with Zayn and decided it was over. Christ, Louis.”

“That was Zayn?” Louis asks, his eyes wide. “You never said he was so--”

“Sure, Zayn is gorgeous and an omega, but he’s not you and I’m not interested in him in even the smallest way. And he’s certainly not interested in me either. He’s hot for Liam actually.”

Louis huffs out a laugh and a small smile. “Is he?”

Harry can’t help but return the smile. Louis’ smile has always been hard to resist. “Yeah. He’s hoping Liam isn’t only interested in betas.”

Louis’ smile dims. “I’m sure Liam would keep an open mind.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, too.” He scuffs the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“Um, there’s a reason I came to find you.”

“Afraid I’d get lost and fall in the lake?”

“No.” Louis shakes his head. “I’m the one who lost my way. When I saw you holding that ring box in your hand, knowing the ring I picked out for you is inside it--Harry, I’ve never been more sorry in my life that that ring wasn’t already on your finger.”

His emotions roil inside him, but he can’t seem to find his voice in the moment.

“I’m sorry about more than that though,” Louis continues. “I’m sorry for all the things I said before and for everything I’ve put us both through, and when you ran out the door tonight, I knew you were taking everything that I want with you.”

Harry is so tired he can barely stand upright and maybe he’s not processing everything correctly, but it’s starting to sound like a second chance for them. A small flicker of hope lights itself in his heart.

“If you give me another chance, I will do everything I can to not let this happen to us again.” Louis promises. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I’ve talked to your sister.”

“What?” This confuses him for a moment, especially considering that the things she said were the catalyst for Louis’ doubts boiling over.” Why?”

“When you wouldn’t answer your phone, I called--everyone asking them to contact you. I may have sounded a bit--frantic.” Louis’ lips slide sideways. “Gemma called back when you wouldn’t pick up for her either. I told her I’d heard what she’d said about us, and she apologized. And then she said--she said that if anyone knew where to find you, it was--me.”

Harry can’t manage to suppress his emotions any longer, and his eyes blur with tears.

“And I knew. I did. I thought about where you would go, and I just--knew. I know you, Harry. I maybe know you as well as I know myself. I know how much I’ve hurt you because I know how much I’ve hurt myself. You said you were still fighting for us, and if that’s still true for you, I want to stand and fight for us, too.”

Harry snorts. “As if I would have ever given up on you. There are plenty of other things I could have broken in that house for you to come fix.”

 

>>> Epilogue <<<

 

Harry hears the door to the apartment slam shut.

“Harry?” he hears Louis call out frantically. He hears the thud of Louis kicking off his shoes so hard they probably hit the wall.

It takes a lot of his will power to remain silent on their bed, waiting for him.

“Harry,” Louis growls. “Where are you? You promised you’d be home early, and my rut--”

Louis finally appears in the doorway to their bedroom. “Holy fuck.”

Harry keeps himself still and looks over his bare shoulder, meeting Louis’ eyes as he grips the iron headboard. He’s kneeling before it on the bed, and if he wasn’t holding on to something, he would have collapsed at the look of lust and possession on Louis’ face.

“Thought I’d do something special for your rut.”

Louis walks dazedly towards the bed, his eyes wide. He reaches his hand out, seeming to hesitate to touch him, but when he does, he runs his fingers along Harry’s spine until he reaches the scrap of black lace fabric just above his ass that’s connected to the suspenders holding up his fishnet stockings. He drops his head and pushes his ass out towards his touch. He moans when Louis’ finger traces lightly over the seam between his cheeks. He’s purposely worn no panties for easier access, which also means his cock is free to harden almost painfully against him.

“My rut won’t really start until tomorrow probably.”

“Mine either. An early gift then--” He chokes off the sentence when Louis’ thumb brushes against his hole. He feels the bed shift to accommodate Louis’ weight on it, and it’s a struggle to not turn around and rip Louis’ clothes off of him. He can feel his own rut nearly upon him, too.

“Fuck, you look so good in this--whatever this is.”

He gasps when he feels the cool liquid of the lube being poured onto him and then gasps again at the feel of Louis’ hands on the backs of his fishnet covered thighs.

“Garters and--ah--fishnets.” He feels the press of Louis’ thumb against him again, more firmly this time, and he can’t help but try to turn his head to see Louis’ expression.

“Well, I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’ll take it.”

Harry moans as Louis’ thumb presses gently, circling his rim. “Because I--love you--ah--love being--ah ah--yours.”

“Those were the right words, Harry.” Louis finally presses a finger inside of him, and he pushes back against him as Louis slowly thrusts his slick finger back and forth. “Baby, you feel so good. You’re mine, Harry. All mine.”

Harry whimpers at both the words and the feeling of Louis’ hand pressed to his ass and a finger inside him. He suddenly feels the fabric of Louis’ trousers against his leg and grunts his displeasure at Louis being clothed. “Lou--take off your--”

He doesn’t finish his thought before Louis works in another finger. He takes Louis’ fingers inside him, reveling in the pressure, until Louis finds his prostate, and he can no longer keep even a semblance of stillness or quiet. He twists in Louis’ arms as Louis presses up against his back, working his fingers inside him. He can feel the press of rough fabric against his highly sensitized skin, and it somehow makes him feel more vulnerable and needy to be open like this to Louis’ gaze and touch.

“Are you ready for me?” Louis murmurs against his skin as he presses kisses along the planes of his back. “Do you want my knot, Harry?”

“Yes! Please, please--yes, Louis, yes!” He whimpers incoherently as Louis’ fingers slip out from inside him. He feels so empty without him. “Lou--please, I need you--”

He grips the headboard tightly as he waits for Louis to get undressed. He doesn’t have to wait long before Louis presses him open on his slick cock. Fuck it feels so good. So so good to have Louis fill him up like this. He can feel Louis’ clothes drag against his skin, and he realizes that Louis has only unzipped himself out of his pants before fucking into him.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot.” Louis grunts before whispering in his ear. “Couldn’t even stop touching you long enough to take off my clothes.”

“More,” he pleads. He can’t hold on to the headboard anymore and lets his arms collapse to the mattress, pushing himself onto his elbows. “More, harder.”

Louis obeys. He pushes in further and a bit harder until he’s found the right angle to have Harry’s breath come in pants and gasps. When Louis wraps his hand around his cock, he lets out a shout at the sensation of both receiving and wanting to give. The continuous push and pull of an alpha in a relationship with another alpha. He thrusts his hips forward to fuck into Louis’ fist and then backwards against his cock. It’s so much.

“Okay?” Louis asks.

“Don’t stop.”

“I won’t. I’m gonna--gonna--” Louis pumps into him faster and harder until he feels Louis’ knot begin to form. This time, Louis pushes in more slowly and Harry reacts to his touch, becoming more pliant beneath him, letting Louis’ knot fully enter him.

He’s not sure if the noises he hears are from his own throat or Louis’ as Louis grips his cock more firmly, stroking him until he’s finally spilling into Louis’ hand. Their breaths are loud and ragged in the quiet of their bedroom, and they slowly sink onto the bed with Louis still locked inside him.

“You still have your shirt on, Lou,” he mumbles. Louis huffs out a laugh against his bare shoulder before pulling himself away slightly in order to wrestle his shirt off of himself. When Louis presses his upper body against him again, Harry breathes in his familiar scent and lets it calm his thumping heart.

Louis runs his hands down his body, across the garter belt and stockings it’s holding up. Harry feels Louis’ cock twitch inside him. ‘You like these, do you?”

“You have no idea how much.” Louis presses his teeth against Harry’s neck with low growl.

“Oh, I think I might have some idea,” Harry says with a smirk. “You still have your pants half on.”

Louis lets a bubble of laughter escape him before he captures Harry’s left hand in his own and presses his lips to the rose gold wedding band that never leaves Harry’s finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please leave kudos and/or a comment! If you'd like to reblog the fic post for me (please pretty please!), you can [find that post here](http://allwaswell16.tumblr.com/post/172658898716/no-easy-love-could-make-me-feel-this-way-by). <3
> 
> Or you can reblog this lovely moodboard made by softhie [here](http://softhie.tumblr.com/post/171932844635/favorite-fics-no-easy-love-could-make-me) !
> 
> This fic was inspired by a prompt on the [Windows Mood Board](https://letsjustsee.tumblr.com/post/166435243282/window-mood-board-as-h-l-fics). The original prompt was: 
> 
> That damn window shade. Harry can never seem to get it adjusted right, and Louis was the only one who ever seemed to be able to. But Louis’ not here anymore, and every time Harry sees those crooked blinds, all he can think is that things aren’t supposed to be this way. So he has a few drinks, and he may or may not send a text to Louis asking if he’ll come over and fix the problem, because it’s driving Harry crazy. And Louis does, because Louis is wonderful and has never let Harry down. But the next week, Harry notices a leaky faucet. And then a few dents in the walls. And the back door hinge won’t stop squeaking. And suddenly it’s a month later and Louis’ been coming over a few times a week to fix up their apartment they used to share. And then he starts sticking around for a beer or two after. And then maybe a movie. And maybe this is working out better than Harry expected…
> 
> The filter changing scene was inspired by the movie Crazy Stupid Love that I actually have never seen, but my beta has and suggested the idea for it!


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